Murder: Is Los Angeles Prepared for Another Turf War?
Sighing, I shook my head as I read the scandalous piece, the story meant to heighten fears, headlining organized crime in the usual pompous fashion. Two men had been killed outside a famous nightclub, the very one my father frequented. I had no doubt they were my father's soldiers. The scene caught by some unknown photographer would no doubt make him famous. Bloody and horrific. The picture was graphic enough, actually highlighting the bodies of two individuals lying in the middle of the street. "Two of your men?"
My father nodded, his hand shaking as he attempted to take another gulp. "Marcos and Sam. Two of my best men."
"And they were protecting you?"
He eyed me warily. "As they always do."
"Who's responsible?"
Ricardo took his time refilling his drink before answering. The attack had unnerved him. "Massimo's men. At least from what I've heard."
I was forced to reflect on everything I'd been taught over the years, things I'd prefer to forget. This news could be devastating. "You're talking about the Massimos out of Italy? You must be joking."
The Massimo family were as powerful in Italy as the Bratvas were in Russia and while they were considered extremists, preferring the old methods of handling issues, they also stood by their honor. Coming into America and usurping already existing authority wasn't their style. Killing two of my father's men was either an act of vengeance or a prelude to war. Either way, the danger had just escalated. I was pissed at the thought, let alone the interference that the two murders might cause in my life. I tossed the paper, grabbing my drink. I didn't need to read the rest of the details.
Ricardo simply gave me a harsh glare.
The taste of the three-hundred-dollar bottle of scotch was suddenly bitter. It was my turn to be civil. For my father, this could mean an all-out war, something the city of Los Angeles didn't need. "What are your plans for retaliation and what does this have to do with me?"
"The Saltoris are also involved."
"Louis Saltori?" My father had kept various aspects of business from his only son. My thoughts drifted to Saltori's son, a man who'd been in and out of my life since entering show business. I was beginning to feel a trap had been set. The Saltoris had been small players, although their connection to the Italian Borgata was well known. In order to keep the peace, my father had allowed them a piece of the organization, businesses that Louis ran with an iron fist. The mere two percent provided to my father represented a substantial amount of cash through the years.
My father had always known the Massimos would eventually come to America, but the timing was interesting.
I could smell a betrayal.
"If what we are hearing is correct, Louis will try and make his move within the next thirty days. He has built a substantial army. Cash reserves. The old fuck. I never knew he had it in him. The rumors on the street are already costing me money and that's not going to continue. The fuckers will die." The vile expression on his face was one that left the majority of those who worked for him cowering in fear.
"Why are the Saltoris challenging the peace?" After the last turf war, parameters had been agreed to in an effort to keep violence off the streets, including giving Saltori some amount of power. He was heavily involved in the drug scene, using real estate as a cover. Unfortunately, Saltori approved shipments coming into the country.
He inched closer, narrowing his eyes. "Saltori is hungry. I'll guess he's been made a promise or two. You know I never trusted the man." A sneer crossed his face the moment he offered the answer, as if I should be incensed for a different reason. He glanced up and down, obviously displeased with my selection of attire. "If you haven't made the connection yet, his son is someone that you've worked with before. Motherfucking asshole."
My thoughts drifted to Saltori's son. The infamous movie director had never given any indication of his desire to be a player in his father's business, much the same as my thoughts. Was he conniving? Fuck, yes. "Vincenzo Saltori. I am well aware of who and what he is."
"Maybe something I taught you actually did sink in."
"Cut the crap, Father. I never forget anything you teach me. What do you want me to do about it?" Vincenzo wasn't on my list of friends, but he held a powerful influence in Hollywood. He was also the director on my latest project. An arrogant bastard with far too many connections. I didn't believe in karma or coincidences. I'd been sought after for the role, even though the last time Vincenzo and I had worked together there'd been significant property damage.
I'd never been concerned about the Massimo connection, or maybe I simply hadn't cared. If what my father was saying was true, things were going to get dicey and difficult decisions would need to be made.
"What I want is for you to take your place by my side where you'd always belonged. I need your help and your muscle. This could get... messy." Ricardo's eyes twinkled in a vindictive manner. He was planning on a mass execution. That much I knew about my father. He struck without bothering to ask questions. If Saltori had a part in having his capos murdered, nothing would stop him from attacking.
He was actually asking me to take part in his murderous plan. Hell, no. He wasn't going to shame me into leaving a life I'd struggled to achieve. Not for any reason. "I refuse to be a part of blood running in the street. This isn't my world, Father. Remember?" I glared at him before polishing off my drink, slamming the tumbler on the expensive marble bar top.
"What I remember is that you made your mother a promise. What I remember is that you've pushed away your family for years, pretending your birthright doesn't exist. What I remember is that my son is a pussy."
I was used to his goading as well as his nasty words, but I'd reached my limit. "My birthright?" I stormed toward him, trying to rein in the kind of anger that brought back violent memories. I was shaking as I approached. "My birthright to a murderous organization? To a monster?" I waited for a few seconds, hungering for a nasty retort.
He just stared at me with his cold black eyes, his usual expression.
"The promise I made to my mother was to get the hell out of this life and that's exactly what I'm going to do." I'd been a brutal man, violent by nature, following directly in my father's footsteps. I had blood on my hands, the stain that would never go away, a stench that would never leave my nostrils. I'd made the promise mere weeks before her death.
That had been after witnessing another tragedy, an immoral act ordained by my father. I'd seen a snapshot of the real man, the true monster. I was catching the same glimpse today.
When he remained quiet, I threw back my shoulders, heading for the door. I knew what his soldiers thought of me. There was no respect. Maybe I was selfish, but my mother had spent years making certain I was groomed for another purpose.
"You only think you can run, Michael, but there is no place to hide that the truth won't be discovered. You are the blood of my blood, skin of my skin. You are my son and required to take the helm one day."
I stopped only long enough to throw him a glance riddled with hatred. He'd nearly destroyed my life once. I'd be damned if he was going to get the chance to do it again. "Have a good life, Father."
As I walked away, all I could think about was paying for the sins of the father-my father to be exact.
Over my dead body. "Kelan! Look this way!"
"Can I get a picture with you?"
"Carnal King. Carnal King."
The screams were always the same, the fans lining the red carpet, hands clinging to the velvet rope. They all wanted a piece of me. The nickname had stuck after one particularly heated love scene in my first movie. I stood with my hands in my pockets, a grin on my face. At least my angry eyes were hidden by dark shades. My latest film was premiering, the action adventure ready to top the charts.
I had a buddy on the police force, a fan of Kelan the movie star. I'd always had suspicions the detective was bought and paid for by my father, but we'd never had an inappropriate conversation. Shane had been somewhat forthcoming in details regarding the murder. The hit had been swift, gunfire coming from an open window of a black Caddy. Spineless fuckers.
I'd gotten the basic information over a cold couple of beers and shots of tequila in the middle of a strip club, his favorite location to unwind. The police were unnerved, fearful of more blood spilled. They certainly had looked the other way dozens of times, but blood in the streets was difficult for them to justify without a full investigation.